


He Hoped Once

by sunANDdust



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Credence tries to escape in his own way, F/M, Falling In Love, Hope vs. Despair, Minor Character Death, Mrs. Cunningham is terrible, My First Work in This Fandom, Please give it a try, Rating May Change, Tags May Change, Violence, finding friends, set right before the movie, why did Credence snap in the first place?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-13 23:47:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9147370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunANDdust/pseuds/sunANDdust
Summary: Credence has been so utterly alone that he is literally horrified when he makes the acquaintance of someone he really shouldn't. She is the only one who smiles at him as everybody else frowns, the only one who talks to him as everybody else avoids. Credence did not know that despair and happiness could live side by side. For he is a 'Second-Salemer. And she is a whore.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is my first fic in this fandom and on AO3 in general. Since the idea spooked around in my mind for a while I decided to just give it a try.  
> In my opinion, Credence is an incredibly interesting character and I am excited to see what will happen in the next movie. Anyway, I also wondered why Credence powers snapped at this point and at his age for, obviously, he is the oldest Obscurial they ever came upon. I imagined that something very disturbing, emotionally traumatic must have happened to the poor boy which led to Graves/Grindelwald approaching him and the events of the story.
> 
> This is my idea and I apologize if it is no good. English is not my first language and this little thing is unbetaed: all the mistakes are my own and I want to apologize in advance. In the case you like it, please feel free to leave me some criticism or review, I would be so happy to hear your opinion!
> 
> Now, last but not least, enjoy!

Sometimes, when he was in the streets to hand out pamphlets, a small group of women would pass him by or walk on the other side of the street. Most of the time, Credence tried not to look at them but focus on the pieces of paper he held, thin as a leaf in autumn and more than often heavy with rain. The colours of the material, the ink, would mix and run down his fingers, and he'd know what awaited him later. The belt. He could have went in to keep the few hundred cards from being ruined. It would have meant the belt, as well. Knowing this and listening to the people around mocking him, making fun of him, sometimes made him watch the women from the corner of his eyes. Just to relieve his mind for a brief moment, to forget the cold. The humiliation.

“Watch it, freak!” boys of his age yelled at him when passing him by, laughing.

“Just wait, boy, the Asylum is just around the corner, waiting for you and your family.” an old man had said, looking quite shabby and with a mad eye himself.

The street boys threw horse dung at his younger sister when playing outside, delighting in her angry protests until she burst into tears.

Relief was a sin, that Ma had beaten into him enough of times. Cold had to be endured, to do what he was supposed to do. The humiliation was to be cherished, inhaled, she had said.

_Forgive them for they know not what they do._

But sometimes.

Credence never looked at them openly, of course, but always with his head bowed down and his shoulders hunched. Some days there were four of them, sometimes only two but they were always the same persons wrapped up in grey cloaks or scarves. And although they should not have been prominent in any way with their colourless dresses and muddy boots, they just were. The neighbourhood was poor but even here the female community had followed the new fashion and wore their curls mostly short, no longer than down to their shoulders. The four women, however, wore it long and open and never bothered to cover it with a hat or cap. Their skirts were long and their laughing loud.

Once his mother had stood in the doorway of the society's quarter as they walked by, her eyes narrowing to mere slits and her lips pursed.

“Go inside, Credence” she had told him with that icy soft voice of hers, “and lock the doors behind you. Don't go outside and also keep an eye on your sisters.” The next day she had taken them all to the town hall and demanded that the women should be removed from their poor but respectable neighbourhood by the authorities. The man there had laughed in their faces.

“The mayor and the police have more important matters at hand than wrenching a bunch of whores from their homes, Ma'am. With the economic situation as it is they are just everywhere.” With that he had dismissed them and so the women had remained.

Whores.

Ma had never referred to them as such, way to disgusted with their kind to ever utter the word, but from the beginning, his adoptive-sisters and himself had known what they were. Spawn of the devil, just as bad as the witches. Scum. But sometimes... They seemed to live not too far from the orphanage, actually only a few houses down the street, so he'd encountered them quite often over the past weeks and practised his 'not looking at them'. One day, he handed out Ma's pamphlet's without looking at anyone directly, as he usually did, a small feminine hand grabbed one of the papers he held out, accidentally brushing his own. A worn green scarf flapped around a brown skirt as the person kept on walking. He stood frozen in his spot, shocked to the core. Carefully, he looked up from under his lashes just to notice that it had been one of _the_ women who had taken the card. She was actually reading the words and staring at the picture of the hands breaking a wand surrounded by wild flames. Her eyes widened a little before she turned her head and – looked back at him. Grey eyes met his own and their expression – surprise, confusion, recognition – held his own black ones just for a mere heartbeat, before she turned around again and her long hair spread over her back like a fan.

That night when he cleaned up for bed, he scrubbed his hand furiously, half out of his mind with panic and guilt. Panic out of fear that Ma knew, that somehow, somehow she would know what had happened. And guilt for it had felt good. He was disgusted with himself as he washed his hand with soap over and over again, and rubbed the skin dry and tender with the rough towel he called his own. The brief moment of her hand touching his had felt _good_.

He dreamed of a dark shadow looming over him, hitting the palms of his hand with a leathern belt, leaving bloody cracks of raw meat. Even in his dream the pain was so intense it sent tears to his eyes, down his cheeks, and despair to the pit of his stomach, but still he could feel that hand touching his.

* * *

 

 The following week he did not dare to go too far into the street and leave the house behind, but remained close to the door of the orphanage or in the alley next to it. No one ever came close enough to take something from him. He preferred it that way but it also meant he failed. In his fear he considered to dump the papers somewhere, throw them into the garbage or into the fireplace. But he knew that Ma would see through his lies immediately. He was scared of the belt but even more of the possibility that _she_ would be there again, with her curious grey eyes and long hair. Twice Ma had beaten him for staying out too late.

“Before sunset, Credence!” she had hissed, staring him down until he fumbled his own belt out of its loops. The next day his hands hurt so much that he could have cried, but he held back. Not that anybody would have noticed, it was pouring outside, but he felt ashamed just thinking about it. On Thursday, Friday and Saturday she sent him to bed without dinner, because he had torn his trousers on the knee when a group of street boys had pushed him to the side so he fell.

Credence was relieved. Hunger was not as bad as the beating. On the third evening, however, Modesty handed him a hard, dry crust of bread. Obviously, she had hid it in her apron when Ma and Chastity had been busy.

Her eyes sparkled when he squeezed her hand.

* * *

 

On Sunday, after service, Ma sent Credence to Mrs. Cunningham two houses down the street to borrow sugar for the tea. The old, grouchy lady regularly helped out around the orphanage and at the New Salem Society meetings, however, always wearing an expression as if she hated every second of it. As a kid, Credence had been scared of her and, to be honest, he still was. Arriving at the door, he rung the bell and waited. Nothing happened so he rung again, once again waiting in vain. Anxiety arose in his guts, not because he feared that something might have happened to the old lady, but that he would have to return home without the sugar. Naturally, Ma would assume that he had dawdled away and punish him. He looked around, nervously, ready to ask somebody, maybe a tenant who could have told him more, but when he looked to the left, he tensed up immediately.

Barely twenty feet down the street the four women walked in his direction, loaded with bundles of wet laundry. Somehow, he was not surprised that they had not been to mass. Credence couldn't help but stare, until one of them noticed him standing there and grinned. Then she touched the companion on her side with her elbow, causing the woman to look up as well – grey eyes. This time, Credence saw her more clearly. She was tall, the tallest of them all, with mousy hair and shadows around her eyes. Recognition dawned on her face and, making him tense up even more, a smile spread her lips. She stopped at the foot of the stairs, looking up at him and Credence had to fight the sudden urge to make himself even smaller than he usually did.

“Aren't you the boy who hands out these pamphlets everyday?” she asked, her voice surprisingly deep and friendly. She turned back to her companions, giving them a short nod as they walked on without her. The other women grinned at each other, whispering in obvious amusement. Credence just knew that they were smiling and giggling about him. But when the woman with the grey eyes returned her attention to him, only friendly curiosity shone in her eyes.

“I read that pamphlet of yours. Twice, actually.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, moving the bundle of laundry in her arms around. “What is all that about witchcraft, where do you get these ideas from?” She spoke with an accent Credence could not pin down, the unmelodious intonation contradicting her voice. Then he remembered that she had asked him a question and was looking at him expectingly. Something seemed to cut off his words as he opened his mouth, unsure of what he was actually going to say, but that moment a screechy, angry voice prevented him from giving an answer.

“Begone, godless whore! Why, trying to harass this modest boy, this innocent child, by offering yourself, shamelessly?!”

He spun around, seeing Mrs. Cunningham standing in the door, swinging her cane like a sword. Her eyes were aflame and she looked scarier than ever.

“Not on my doorstep, wicked bitch!” she screeched, walking a few steps into the woman's direction, “Begone, I say, or I will call the police!”

With a strength Credence would have not expected from her, Mrs. Cunningham grabbed him by the arm and ripped him back, behind her, as she still flashed her eyes angrily at the younger woman. The grey eyes had widened slightly, her lips pursed. She did not answer but returned the looks she was given, her eyes switching between Credence and the old dervish next to him. Then, when the woman – the whore – turned to leave, Mrs. Cunningham spit in front of her feet unceremoniously. Yet, the young woman did not seem to care. She kept on walking with her head held hight and did not look back.

Credence released a breath he was not aware he was holding, tasting bitter bile on his tongue. Then he followed the old woman who kept on ranting furiously. Unluckily, Mrs. Cunningham decided to accompany him home. “For your own safety!” she said as she tied her scarf, so he returned home much later than he was expected to. When he opened the door of his home for Mrs. Cunningham, Ma stood next to the door and was obviously quite surprised to be greeted effusively by the old lady. Mary Lou's expression changed from icy to mildly surprised. Credence stood by when Ma served some tea, of course with the sugar they had brought along, listening with her lips in a thin line as Mrs. Cunningham told her the whole story, repeating herself over and over again. His hands shook so he hid them behind his back.

“And the poor boy” the old lady snorted, sounding angry and not at all compassionate, “he was completely frozen in shock with that horrible woman trying to beguile him. I thought he might be sick with being addressed by her foul mouth.”

Ma sent him a short glance, examining him in the blink of an eye and, obviously, what she had heard and what she saw persuaded her. That night she patted his cheek before sending him to bed and, to Credence' surprise, she did not punish him. It had been the strangest day, not a bad day, though, since Ma had not even spoken harshly to him. But Credence lay awake in the dark long after bed time, staring at the roof which was illuminated by the street lights down below. Over and over again the scene he had witnessed today played before his mind's eye – the young woman, Mrs. Cunningham yelling and insulting her. And the old lady had kept on ranting venomously after she brought him home. _Why, trying to harass this modest boy, this innocent child, by offering yourself, shamelessly?!_ And what she had told Ma - _completely frozen in shock with that horrible woman trying to beguile him -_

Credence' hands clenched into fists on their own account as a tight feeling made his stomach cramp. He felt angry, angry and upset. The woman had not tried to seduce him or lure him into a sinful deed but had tried for a friendly conversation. It was not right for Mrs. Cunningham to act like the woman had crawled all over him, talking him into a compromising situation. Credence recalled the way she had walked away, seemingly unfazed. But he had seen her pursed lips and the defiant shine in her eyes, making them seem cold and aflame at the same time. She had walked away, knowing there was no point in talking back and it made Credence think of himself when people were teasing and insulting him. It made his blood boil in anger but eventually he would just lower his eyes and remain quiet. It was close to dawn when he finally fell into a troubled sleep.

* * *

 

 The following week remained rather uneventful and Credence felt shame burning hot when he kept an eye on the streets when inside, and looked more at people around him when he was out doing his duty. But for many days in a row she did not pass by the New Salem's quarter whenever he was there, almost as if she was trying to avoid him. Of course, Credence knew that this was nonsense but he could not help it. Until that day, when Mary Lou sent him out to look for a new location for their next public gathering. It was in the late afternoon on a Friday and his head swum from staring at paper and colours all day long, so he felt quite relieved when Ma called him to her with a quiet utterance of his name.

“On Sunday we will need a place too meet up with the society, somewhere public so people will be able to see and hear properly. Go not further than Palmer's bakery and be back before eight.” she had said, looking at him with her usual tight expression. But her icy tone could not prevent his heart from doing a little jump at the prospect of some fresh air and alone time. Naturally, he hid his feelings deep down and gave a single nod. “Yes, Ma.”

* * *

 

 The streets were busy, noisy, full of people hurrying in this or that direction. He watched them from the corners of his eyes while he looked around for free spaces, stairs that could possibly work as a stage or something. Credence felt a little silly walking around, staring seemingly into space without a task or a place to be, but he kind of enjoyed it. For once, nobody seemed to stare at or make fun of him, laughing in his face, calling him all sort of names. For once, he was simply able to watch and wonder and take a deep breath. His stomach stopped aching, his muscles relaxed and for the first time in a long while Credence felt something like calm as he sat down on a stair and looked around.

Not knowing for how long he had sat there, at some point the sun started to set and the clock stroke seven. He would need around fifteen minutes for his way back home so he got up from the stairs and started walking back slowly, feeling the old tension returning to his limbs. Credence looked up, thoughts occupied with the tasteless soup they would have for dinner and how cold his room would be that night - when he noticed the woman with the grey eyes coming up the street in his direction.

Credence' heart began to race in his chest, panic spreading in the pit of his stomach as she came closer and closer without noticing him. She was alone, looking a little grim and deep in thoughts and he thought that he might be able to slip past her with her remaining oblivious of his presence. However, as if his glances called her attention to him, her eyes settled on him the moment he was about to pass her by. Recognition dawned on her face almost invisibly before she averted her gaze, looking to the floor and hurrying her steps.

Out of some perverse opposition he stopped right there on the spot and his mouth opened to release the words : ” I am - “ He turned around, shocked to the bone by his own impropriety and foolishness – _someone might know him around here and tell Ma, why did he do that, she would yell at him, she would laugh at him_ -

She had stopped as well, looking at him defiantly. “You are – what?” This time her voice was a little strained, matching her facial expression.

Helplessly, Credence stared at her, hunching his shoulders, his palms sweaty. He remembered the anger he'd felt the night after the incident, how upset he'd felt by Mrs. Cunningham's behaviour. He lowered his head a little, looking at her from under his lashes before staring at the ground again.

“I am sorry – she should not have -” his voice vanished and he fought the urge to cough, “she should not have treated you like that.” Credence' last words almost came out as a whisper but obviously she had heard him even from her position three steps away.

When he dared looking back up at her, her face had lost some of the tension and her glance lingered on him with an indescribable expression, taking him in from head to toe. The corners of her lips lifted a little.

“Your name is Credence.” she then said, still watching him closely. It was a statement, not a question. “One of the girls at your home sometimes calls you in the streets.” she cared to explain when his eyes widened and mouth opened in astonishment. “The little one” she added, “your sister?”

“My younger sister Modesty.” The woman nodded wordlessly and Credence felt his mouth go dry. He was not sure of what to say further when the woman shifted her weight from one foot to the other, turning halfway to leave.

“My name is Cecilia.” she said before giving him one last look and a smile. Then she walked away, leaving Credence standing in his spot with his mouth slightly open and stunned into motionlessness. He was still looking after her even when she'd long before vanished within the crowd, mulling over how she had talked to him, her smile. She'd even given him her name – no longer a nameless woman in his mind but a person with a name.

Credence knew she'd accepted his apology. On his way home a strange excitement rose and fell inside his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own 'Fantastic Beasts' or any of the characters, except for Mrs. Cunningham (the lovely woman) and my darling Cecilia + friends.  
> Thanks for reading! :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> First of all, I'd like to apologise for updating so late. With my exams and papers it took much longer than planned to finish this chapter. Thanks for reading! Each kudo, hit and comment is cherished! :)  
> Now I don't want to keep you much longer from reading. I am happy you are checking this story out again, please be warned that this chapter starts with a scene of violence as you may have seen in the additional tags. So, you have been warned!  
> Apart from this, please enjoy and leave me a comment or kudo! :)

_He knew that he was dreaming. The scene before him was set in a strange sepia colouring, foggy and without proper light._

_The glance of young eyes bore into his, full of fear and hope and doubt. He could not make out any colour, only the desperate begging in them. A young face, still caught up in childhood and yet old, so very old. It seemed quite distorted by the way too mature expression it wore. What captivated him more, however, was the naked power lying behind these eyes pulsing like a heartbeat of its own. There was something raw about it, like the cautious and untamed strength of a wild animal._

_And then, suddenly, it burst into an inferno of blackness full of destruction._

* * *

  _He snapped awake, half sitting up in the bed he slept in. A long time had passed since he'd had such dreams for he was sure it predicted something._

_The present, the future, he did not know. What he did know though was, that he would not find sleep anymore anytime soon. Way too real and frequent did his dream pass before his mind's eye to ignore it. Therefore, he did the only sensible thing he knew: get dressed and leave for a nightly stroll around the streets of New York. The city was not to be underestimated, people got mugged all the time, becoming victims of crimes. But he could only smile at that._

_The Muggles could try to mug him, heh. He chuckled at his own joke, walking down a street leaving his neighbourhood._

_The area unfolding to his eyes was a godforsaken place, poor and pathetic, not to be compared to his stunning homeland with its magnificent architecture and rich history. But here he could stay with a certain amount of anonymity to his name and nobody would find him. Nobody._

_He walked down a dark alley full of garbage and dirt when he noticed the pair passing by along the byroad, illuminated by the yellowish halo of street lights. He watched as they stopped, the man bracing himself against the house front and throwing up noisily. The woman next to him, still with his arm around her shoulder, laughed nervously, patting his back in rather unwillingness._

_“We should better get you to bed.” he heard her say, her voice a pleasant alto. The man only chuckled drunkenly, turning back to her with staggering feet._

_“-sats a good plan, darlin'. T-Take me to bed.” He tried to kiss her but the woman pushed him back gently, leaning away from his certainly foul breath. “You are drunk like ten sailors, dear. Why don't you -” “I am – I am fine! You ain't gonna get rid of me with yu 'oh yu drunk' thingy. I paid yu five, yu owe me some.”_

_Resolutely, the woman produced the note out of her pocket and pressed it into his chest. “There you got your five. You're not going home with me tonight, not in your condition.” He could see that the man's face formed into an angry sneer at the woman's well-meant interference and the note fell to the dirty ground as the bloke leaned back, hand raised. A sharp slap echoed within the street canyon as the hit sent the woman stumbling against the wall. Within a second the man was over her, pushing her cheek forward against the concrete as she struggled against him as best as she could. The man yelled at her, sobered by his rage enough to articulate himself more clearly again._

_“Stupid bitch! Think I buy you one whiskey after another and then you sneak away like a-” His words got lost within an angry snarl and a choked cry from the woman as he started to pull her skirt up while pressing her against the wall with his full weight -_

_A scared whimper -_

_The next moment, the man was ripped from the woman as if an invisible creature had gripped him by the shoulder and thrown him back against the street light. He did not make another sound. With a choked sob the woman stumbled to the side, looking back at her assaulter with panic and relief dawning on her face._

_He lowered his wand, appraising the sorry bundle of man leaned against a slightly bend street light pillar. A quiet_ Stupor _had been enough to show him his place. Right there where he lay. And although he could almost physically smell the fear of the Muggle woman she was still there, her face swelling slowly from the hit. Out of the shadows he looked at her and felt only contempt for her, bend and bloody and pathetic as she hovered in the dirt. But, lucky for her, he'd despised the man's behaviour even more and how could one little spell hurt? How would it hurt him to prolong this miserable creature's miserable life? Eventually, the woman picked up her long skirts and ran, leaving the drunk fool behind._

_He could not help but smile a little at himself, surprised by his own actions but even more so by the fact, that this little, silly intermezzo had freed his mind of his dream if only for a short moment. But his muscles felt loose and some heaviness had crept into his eyelids so he turned around to walk back the same way he had come before. When he sunk down onto his bed, the man and the woman replayed before his mind's eye and a small feeling of satisfaction settled over him like a warm blanket. Oh, how he despised them._

* * *

 It was dark in his room and unusually sunny outside so Credence was sure nobody saw him standing near the window to watch the men in brown working attires loading the motionless body onto the horse cart. The single police officer who stood nearby the vehicle looked more than bored, glancing quickly at his pocket watch. The crowd surrounding the scene watched on, whispering to each other, women, men and children staring and gossiping.

In this neighbourhood it was not unusual for bodies to be found in alleys and yards, generally men too drunk to find the way home and, from time to time, a dead person. People sometimes acted almost casually about it which was why this case had caught his eye even more. Although he was too far away to hear a word that was said down there on the street, Credence knew perfectly well why the working men looked so uncomfortable when carrying the body. The street light pillar the man had been leaned against, was obviously responsible for his snapped spine as if someone had thrown him against it with all his might.

But, who could have done something like that? Surely nobody possessed the physical strength for such a deed?

A cold shiver ran down his spine and Credence turned away from the window to walk back into the dusty darkness of the house. When he stepped out of his room, he could hear Chastity humming under her breath while sweeping the floor downstairs. Modesty was not around and no other children were around either. Ma had said that she would go out for a while, visiting some friends struck down by illness or something. He felt almost bad for not caring at all and was surprised at the same time. Something deep down in is belly churned and he hastily walked down the stairs and opened the door to the street.

It was cold but the sun felt good when Credence leaned against the door frame, watching the people still standing around and talking.

A mother pulled her child past him, arguing loudly. Two old women crept around the crowd like two suspicious cats, mumbling and whispering with each other. “...and Toby said he had never seen anything like it...snapped clean through, God help us...as if nobody touched him, no bruises but...”

Credence frowned at that. Things were getting stranger and stranger and somehow it made him feel more uneasy. He stepped down the front stairs to go around the house, surely he would be able to see more from that spot than standing here with all the people blocking his view. Credence turned the corner – and almost let the yelp forming in his throat escape when he bumped into someone.

“Easy, Credence” the person hissed, “it's just me.”

With a pounding heart he let himself fall back against the wall, staring at Cecilia standing in the half-shadow with her arms crossed in front of her chest. She did not smile. Hectically, and rather unsuccessfully, Credence searched for words when she turned her eyes back to the crowd and the worried lines around her eyes grew deeper. She wore her usual brown skirt and her tall, thin frame seemed to drown in the shapeless coat but it was undeniably her. What surprised him the most, however, was the green scarf she'd wrapped awkwardly around her head so it hid most of her hair and the right side of her face almost completely.

“Wha-” he had to clear his throat before his voice worked again, “what are you doing here? If Ma finds you here she will yell at you.”

He felt silly as she merely rose a brow at his remark. “This is a free country and the alley is not her ground and home, I can walk and stand wherever I want and I don't care for your Ma yelling at me.”

Credence flinched at her dismissing tone and she seemed to notice because her eyes turned softer on him. “I am sorry, Credence” she said, pulling the scarf deeper into her face, “that was not nice of me.”

Cecilia reached her hand out to pat his shoulder in a friendly manner but he took a step back. The surprise in her eyes made him feel worse and even more awkward but he was scared of what her touch would do if he allowed it. She would leave now. Leave him, the creep, standing in this dirty, smelly alley and never look back. Cecilia, however, merely gave him a little sad smile and pulled her hand back.

“I am sorry, Credence” she said again and Credence wondered what was wrong with this picture that she was constantly apologising to him while he was the awkward boy who had no idea what he was doing. The whole situation was a little too much.

_\- he should not be here, he should not be talking to her but it is Cecilia, but he does not actually know her, what if somebody did sneak on him to Ma, the belt -_

And then he realised what was actually weird about her, something he had noticed immediately but could not quite name. When he stared at her with wide eyes, Cecilia turned her face more towards him and only flinched a little as his left hand – which seemed to have a will of its own, when did he even start moving – pulled the scarf off her head and down to her shoulders.

The right half of her face was swollen in different shades of blue, already turning slowly into green here and there, whereas Cecilia's left cheekbone presented a long line of scratches as if someone had run a piece of sandpaper along the skin, dried blood crusting the cuts.

Staring at her, Credence felt his mouth hang open. “W-What happened?” he heard himself ask.

Cecilia did not look down nor did she turn away, she simply shrugged her shoulders. “One of the punters got a little rough, that's all.” she answered nonchalantly but Credence saw something that could have been fear flash up in her eyes. He stared at her blankly.

“What is a punter?”

“A customer.”

An icy shiver crawled down his spine when he heard her utter the words. But she only shrugged her shoulders again, giving him a smile that seemed a littler truer than the nonchalance she'd put on before.

“Don't look so horrified, boy. That is nothing, I've had it worse.”

“Credence!”

The two of them froze at the loud call from within the house and Cecilia barely had enough time so slip into the shadows of a collection of old furniture dumped in the alley, when the window above was opened harshly and Chastity stuck her head outside. Her eyes looked him up and down with icy wonder.

“What are you doing down there?” she asked suspiciously and Credence gestured into the direction of the main street where still a huge crowd of people was gathered.

“I wanted to see what was going on out here. They found a dead man just across the street.”

Obviously Chastity had not yet heard about the event because her face turned even paler and she looked uncomfortable.

“How dreadful” she said flatly, “but none of our business. Come inside, Ma will not be pleased when she finds your chores unfinished upon her return.”

In any other situation, with any other person, this could have been a well-meant remark but Credence knew exactly that Chastity had not his well-being in mind. It was a threat. A tight feeling arose in his belly, resulting in a yet familiar churning. For the first time Credence recognized it as a slight feeling of defiance. Still, he nodded slightly.

“I will be inside any moment.”

She gave a short nod as well and closed the window again, but he knew that she would remain there lurking inside the darkness of the room as he had done half an hour ago. Remaining outside would be just as suspicious as moving closer to the house and under the eaves where he would be hidden from her eyes. So Credence turned back to the street and looked at Cecilia out of the corner of his eyes. He nodded slowly, hoping that she would get the message and leave before Chastity would find out about her.

Luckily, Cecilia smiled warmly and sneaked along the wall towards the street at the back of the house. She gave a small wave before disappearing from his field of view and Credence felt his heart beat a little quicker. He waited for a while longer until he was sure that Cecilia was gone, then went back inside.

Of course, Chastity stood in the doorway to the kitchen, watching him like a hawk as he closed the door behind himself. She was still staring as he went to the tool shed to get everything he needed to repair three of their kitchen chairs.

For the rest of the afternoon Credence worked on the old rickety pieces of wood so they might not break down under the next person taking a seat. Ma came back and although he was not done at the time, she did not seem to be angry about it but looked like she was deep in thoughts.

During dinner, nobody dared speaking a word, all four of them saying praise sullenly and spooning the thin soup with a frown. Credence sat across from Chastity and her cold stared crossed his sometimes, causing him to lower his eyes back to his plate. That night, it was his turn to do the dishes and when he was almost done, Chastity 'accidently' dropped a frying pan full of oil that had remained from her making pastries for the Sunday community tea they would attend. Her apology was as fake as her regretful expression and when she left to get ready for bed, Credence was sure he saw her smiling from the corners of his eyes.

It took ages to mob up all the mess and, even worse, the smell of fried dough spreading all over the room made his stomach growl with hunger, not satisfied with the soup he'd had a few hours before. Everybody had already gone to bed and the house was quiet, but Credence was still on his knees scrubbing the floor.

He pictured to himself Cecilia, whole and healthy, no bruises in sight, standing in the other room with him, and watching how Chastity sat down on one of the broken chairs. The wooden construction would withstand for a moment before Chastity would drop to the floor with her bottom first and a loud shriek.

Credence imagined Cecilia throwing her head back and laughing out loud in delight and amusement, her voice resonating within the joyless walls of the house. Somehow it would make the light turn warmer, lighter, more tantalising...

He imagined himself laughing, too, laughing with her until their sides hurt and he almost could hear their joined laughter. Luckily, nobody was in the room with him for they would have seen the broad smile on his face and wonder if he'd gone mad.

* * *

 From this day on, it almost became too easy for him to meet Cecilia.

At the beginning he would simply watch out for her in public places whenever he ran an errand for Ma, sometimes spotting her in the company of her friends, sometimes alone. After a few accidental encounters she would start asking him about his plans for the next day and 'run into him' at some point. At first, Credence was more than uneasy, feeling constantly watched and embarrassed at the same time for surely Cecilia would not bear with his behaviour for too long. Sometimes he expected her to just turn around and leave.

Strangely, this moment did never come.

One day, Cecilia accompanied him home taking a route around the way he'd usually take. They did not talk particularly much but for once he did not feel awkward but at ease, when he stumbled and almost fell. Thankfully, Cecilia was quick enough to grab his arm and keep him from hitting the ground. With burning cheeks, Credence was about to apologise and stopped right there when he noticed how close he was to her. Her skin was too pale and dry but she looked much younger than usual. How old was she actually?

“I am sorry.” Credence whispered, leaning away from her and slipping his arm out of her grip. She grinned at him.

“What?” he asked. Her grin turned into a smile.

“You surprise me all the time, Credence” she said, still looking at him appraisingly but kind, “acting the way you are. It is not often that people talk to me like I am a normal person. Or walk with me.”

She lowered her gaze a little and it did not suit her at all, Credence thought, too gobsmacked to answer. She was the woman to walk down the street with her head high, not caring about other people wrinkling their noses at her. Cecilia remained silent, though, looking somewhat shy. It did not suit her either and upset him even more. Credence knew that, standing in the open with her a mere step away from him, he fell back into old habits of hunching his back and clenching his hands into fists. Surprisingly, he did not care as much as he used to.

“But you are a normal person.” he said quietly, looking at her from beneath his lashes. Her grin returned and something like good-natured humour shone in her eyes.“Most people would disagree with you.”

Credence had dreaded this subject but obviously there was no way around it anymore. So he said, truthfully: “I never forget what you are.”

And to his relief the smile in her eyes did not fade, nor did the smile on her lips.

“Indeed” she said, “and you never should for even a second. Which is why you surprise me even more, Credence.”

That moment, something strange happened and, no matter how hard he tried to figure it out later, he could not put a name on it. Credence did not know what to say but it seemed like an answer was not necessary anyway. She offered her arm to him and he took it as if it was the most natural thing to do, as if touching her so familiarly was normal for him, before they had to say goodbye and continue their ways separately. He could not name it but it must have been something big and important, something powerful. At least to him it felt this way.

* * *

 Credence dreamed of a lithic door being pushed aside with great effort, opening a cold chamber to sun and air.

Although the light seemed rather grey it was also warm and lively, accompanied by wind playing in green crowns of trees.

The cheerful rustle seemed to beckon and invite the swirling cold of the chamber, carefully feeling for it as if not to frighten it off. A great calm began to rule over the dream when something soft and warm touched Credence hand, lifting it up to a smiling face saying: “You surprise me all the time, Credence.”

Then the lips that had uttered these words just a moment ago, softly kissed the back of his hand, his knuckles and his wrist. He could not help the pleasant shiver running down his spine, nor the guilt and confusion that turned into joy. In the distance, he saw darkness swirl calmly as if moving with the wind.

* * *

  _The glance of young eyes bore into his, full of fear and hope and doubt. Once again, he could not make out any colour, only the desperate begging in them._

_However, a soft layer of emotions had glazed the naked fear. It slowly morphed into another shape, another expression and – he barely could believe it – turned into the face of a young man still quite caught up in boyhood. His dark eyes were a vortex of emotions that threatened to make him dizzy._

_And then something even stranger happened: The scene began toexpand, opening up as if creating more room. The image of the young man blurred lightly until his figure seemed to part from another ghostly being which appearing next to him. Said shadowy figure turned into the child he had seen before, this mighty source of raw energy._

_The young man held the child by the hand and, whereas he seemed to vibrate with changing emotions, the naked power lying behind the child's eyes was pulsing even stronger than before._

_A desperate wish and jealousy for such power arose in him, wanting for this fantastic potential. When the scene began to flicker, he knew he did not have much time._

_Desperately he tried to memorise the boy's features, the curve of his nose, the black hair. And then the two of them turned around, showing their backs to him, and he was thrown from his dream with a frustrated cry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I checked and rewrote this chapter over and over again because especially Credence' dream are very important to me and I wanted it to convey exactly the feeling I had in mind. Did I succeed? I am not completely sure but I tried my best! :)
> 
> Concerning the price for Cecilia's 'company', I simply googled some things and found out that, back then in the 20s, $5 were worth much more than they are today, however, I might be wrong. I strove for authenticity, if I failed please let me know! 
> 
> Athough she did not appear too often in the film, Credence' sister Chastity was one of my least favourite characters. I think I saw the actress in 'Brooklyn' before where she played a horribly annoying chick so I don't feel the least guilty for making her the laughingstock.
> 
> Thanks for reading and, since I worked on the plot a little, stay tuned for Chapter 3!  
> :)

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own 'Fantastic Beasts' or any of the characters, except for Mrs. Cunningham (the lovely woman) and my darling Cecilia + friends.  
> Thanks for reading!


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